


What A Day

by PlasticEyes



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 12:17:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7314844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlasticEyes/pseuds/PlasticEyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I assume you’re wondering what I was doing in your wardrobe last night?”</p>
<p>“Well I must admit Fareeha, I am curious.”</p>
<p>(In which Pharah is crushing hard and Mercy is a fucking tease. Fluff for your soul.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	What A Day

Just the way she _looks_ at you.

And god the way her fingers flutter a dance along yours.

Your irises painted a brown color of a perilous voltage just waiting to become unleashed at any moment in any given time unnoticed, or maybe forgotten? You don’t really say anything of course, at the moment and in general. Quiet chuckles and shushed opinions versus a bubbly figure of unspoken influence.

She’s so nice. Charming and endearing, able to associate and engage herself in conversations while maintaining that unspoken authority.

While you on the other hand.

_Sigh._

But she says she loves you.

You guess that’ll have to be enough.

…

…

…

Pharah has a secret.

“Fareeha? Is that you?”

It only took a split moment of a second for impulse to snap into mind, the heel to her foot turned and having her sprint along the shadows of the hallway’s base. With every stride the secret stayed concealed --yet the farther she ran, the quicker it sprang to life.

And the lesser a certain medics voice became.

Angela however, was not someone to run away from. In fact, it was considered near impossible to evade her sights, let alone keen analysis. _So making a dash for it may not have been the best idea_ \--no doubt adding to the doctors worries and thus urging her forward with a larger goal of motivation. And Fareeha knew she couldn’t run away forever of course. Sooner or later the hallway would morph into the lobby where there would she no doubt be sniffed out and discovered.

So, a prayer on her lips.

She skidded to a halt, bare feet emitting a small “squeak” before her hand was around the handle to a random door at her right, twisting with her wrist and barging it open with shoulder. Once completely inside, it was swung closed _quietly_ , slowly until her ear was pressed up against the wooden door and all focus peeled to the approaching steps.

“Fareeha wait!” shouted just as the steps ran past the door she was hidden behind. There was a smile veiled behind the hard beats pounding at her chest, and Fareeha gave herself a mental pat on the back for successfully being able to elude the dreaded doctors clutches.

(Or so she thought.)

Since, well –whose room was she in anyway?

Her ear was removed from the doors wooden casing, taking a step away from it before finally turning around to survey her surroundings.

A bedroom, ( _great)._

Of a high positioned officer apparently, observed through the well kept living spaces and additional luxury items. The bed itself was plain, neatly made comforters and a single pillow. A single window with the view of the night sky, wooden desk, shining mirror, and a wardrobe. To the side was a bathroom to which she opened the door to it, peering in and studying the area as well. It was also simple enough, one shower, one toilet, one sink. A couple of toiletries, conditioner, some shampoo.

Then she spotted a hairbrush.  With streaks of golden hair stuck in the bristles.

While Jamison was always an option, Fareeha was almost sure he didn’t own a hairbrush. Let alone make any effort to cleanse himself in the first place. Then there was Torbjörn and his massive beard, but was his beard hair ever this silk-like before? More so scraggly of the sort.

Those two out of the option, that left two reaming possibilities.

Lena finally dyed her hair or it was Angela’s room.

She was tempted to go with the first option if it hadn’t have been for the obvious sight of a pair of mechanical wings strewn across the desk (why hadn’t she seen this before for?) --seeming to be remodeled or patched up.

_Well time to get out of heeeffffFF--_

She went deathly still, going as pale as her dark skin tone could manage at the sound of heeled boots clicking to a stop just outside the main door. From there it was internal shrieking, her legs becoming automated as she darted around the small room in search of a hiding area.

_Shit shit_ –window bolted down, bed too low. _Shit shIT_ –finally dashing into the small wardrobe and closing herself into a sea of Angela-smelling clothes.

(Oh jeez.)

She heard the door open, heels of boots at first until they disappeared into soft piter-patters of bare feet. Her body dared not move, going as stiff and rigid as possible and as silent as her breathes would allow. Her eyes became the only movement in her form, watching through the small gap of the two doors of the medic and her position in the room.

How the bloody hell did she get herself into this situation?

Angela on the other hand was having just the best day of her life. _Peachy as ever._

(With sarcasm intended.)

 When the stations power had failed, it meant blackouts for the entire town. Including the Overwatch base. Which meant no experiments, no reports, no labs, no television –overall it meant complete boredom.

So when she had spotted Fareeha, amiable and ruggedly charming Fareeha, her mood had all but lit up. Without another thought, she had called out to her. Perhaps they could chat? Gather up the memories of the past or share new ideas for combat related topics. Alas no, Angela was rejected; instead startling her and watching her dash off as a timid rabbit would.

_What a day._

Locking the door, Angela stripped off the doctoral coat, tossing it nonchalantly onto the bed and proceeded to letting her hair out. Strands of messy hair ran through her fingers as she gave her head a shake before beginning to strip from her turtle neck. _Itchy sweater_ , prickling at her neck before that too was on the end railing of the bed and she was down to her bra and pants.

She was just unzipping the zip to her pants when a noise projected itself from the room, definitely not in relation to the shuffles of her clothing or _whiz_ of the zipper finally budging.

Probably just a lonely critter.

She shimmied off her pants and kicked them off, bending to pick them from the floor and fold them neatly. However she stopped, frowning at hearing the sound commence once more, this time tracking the location down to the large wardrobe stuffed in the far corner of the room.

 “Okay kleine maus,”[Alright little mouse], calling in a sing-song voice and making her way towards the wardrobes mystifying doors. “Here I come~”

Her hands rasped at the ancient oak, glancing around at the sense of an imperceptible tension before shrugging.

Excruciatingly slow. The doors were swung open.

Fareeha was in a pale state of despondent shock. She had a hand to her nose, feeling the blood from her nose leak through the thin gaps of her fingers. Deer eyes in a headlight, minds sight in the spotlight –

“*scream*”

“screAM*”

**“*scrEAM*”**

Acting on pure instinct, Angela’s fist lashed out, catching onto the other woman’s head and knocking the poor captain unconscious in a matter of seconds.

.

.

“Oh.”

.

.

 “Oh _scheisse[shit]._ ”

.

..

…

So she thinks I don’t care.

About the way her hair flows and blows to become the interpose of my loss of concentration, the attentiveness now completely engrossed in the way her clothes brush a rhythm against each other and the way they seem to impose on a fantasy pushed aside.

Thinking she can compare.

To the makeup of the hazardous rays of the sun. Becoming undone and tearing into the someone of myself when her hands filling with light comes across my shoulder and whispers a breathily word of reassurance that say _“I’m here”_ and _“I hear”_ and it _endears_ itself on my fumbling thoughts. The closer she comes the faster I’m running and stumbling into an endless ditch filled with the stars of her universe, galaxies of her different dimensions.

She is a riddle.

An emblematic twiddle of my fingers while staring a glazed look over the curving valleys of her figure, overlooking the impeccable smile returned and crinkle of her lips. But what’s she thinking behind the ingenious cover? Where can the truth to these late night talks and excessive brushes of fingers along my persona be dug out? A riddle I find myself in constant thought to solve and comprehend, to fiddle with unsure looks and insecure glances.

_“Are you alright?”_

_“Do you need anything?”_

_“Is that a bruise I spy?”_

_“Want to join me for lunch?”_

_“I can’t sleep.”_

_I can’t breathe._

_“I’m worried.”_

_I’m alone._

_“Be careful schätzchen.”_

…

…

…

Fareeha awoke feeling fresher than she had in years, yawning deeply and making the mental decision to _not_ get out of bed. Why would she anyway? Calls for any mission were yet to be received, and frankly training could wait. Honestly, when had her pillow _ever_ felt this soft? When had her bed in general ever have such a warm and lazy feel to it? It was as if the sun’s light was sharing the bed with since, _god it feels wonderful._

Absolutely wonderful.

“Mmmbf.”

It was only the many, _many_ years of trained willpower that kept her from shooting out of bed that very instant. Instinct was put to alert at once, eyes darting around frantically to take in what the actual fuck was going the _fuck_ _on_.

It took her a couple of conscious seconds to figure out that this was not her room. This bed was not her bed. That desk was not her desk. The pair of mechanical wings was not her suit.  The two legs wrapped around her lower body were most definitely not her own. The pale hand, contrasting against her dark skin tone, lying atop her torso was indeed not her currently numbing arms. In fact, the bundle of blonde hair just under her numbing arm was surely not her own either, particularly at the sight of it beginning to shuffle around.

_Ah yes, now I remember. She knocked me out._

Most likely the reason for her lack of a headache, no wonder the reason for her fresh state. The doctor’s healing never fails to impress.

(Still didn’t really explain why she was on her bed…)

Speaking of the doctor—she shut her eyes at once, hearing and feeling the unmistakable shuffles of movement. A yawn, warm limbs stretching against her side as the body moved languidly around before emitting another yawn and cuddling up to her side yet again. Unbefitting images from last night rising to surface, raising the temperature of her body to _fire_. She cursed silently, heart speed picking up to the point where she could almost feel it pounding in her ear.

Not that she was complaining or anything. It was really hard to criticize the position she was in to be honest.

“Fareeha?”

Unless of course Angela calls her out.

“Fareeha you pulse rate is off the charts right now.”

_Damn._ “Good morning doctor.”

“Good morning.”

Pause. _Waiting._ Discomfited?

“I assume you’re wondering what I was doing in your wardrobe last night?”

“Well I must admit Fareeha, I am curious.”

Fareeha stared up to the ceiling, taking note to the drowsy humor laced within the doctor’s words. At this point, the only set of emotion that could be seen off her expression was the dark flush rising from her neck, something to which Angela noticed and smiled a slight cheeky grin to. Nevertheless, an answer wanted an answer Fareeha would give.

“Admittingly, I was out of character last night. To which I hope you will forgive me doctor, I was--distracted as some would say. To sum it up, it was by pure chance that the room I chose to take cover in was yours.”

The hands at her middle were soft, gentle as they rubbed placid circles with the thumb. As if coaxing out the gathering apprehensiveness.

“So the great and grand captain of Overwatch decided it be best to hide in my wardrobe instead of consulting with her doctor of the reason for her troubled mind.”

“Yes,” reply not so much reflecting off her usual confident demeanor. After all, she had been exposed. Even if it was to a small amount, she was still revealed under the breezing analytical gaze of Angela. Terrifying, some may describe as. For Fareeha though? She wasn’t exactly sure yet.

“Tell me then Fareeha,” temperate and careful, wheedling it out from the captain. “What’s troubling you?”

_But this is wrong_ , was the only thing on her mind. She was a captain, a Captain of Overwatch. She had men fight and die with and for her. A duty, a task, a responsibility that occupied her and herself. She had a name to uphold and a reputation to remain undaunted. There was no _time_ for ‘poor Fareeha’ as long as if there was integrity to be given out.

_Pharah._   A machine, a war contraption trained to the degree of perfection. Only expected to be the best, and only seen as finest of soldiers to be found.

_Fareeha_. Human.

“I have a fear of the dark.”

With the unsettling shadows of the night growing over and around her back, the only force that had the ability to slink and creep up on her. It shows her the visions of a cave.  A cave to which sabotage and screams were torn from the bodies of men and women, the sights of her mother yelling a name in the gloom of lacking light. _So dark_ , when her bare feet touched the and skidded across the caves flooring dripping with a liquid leaking from streams of red from the bodies her legs would trip over. Stumbling to the ground as her crimson scorched wrists were stretched out while her hands clawed towards the light being emitted at the end of the tunnel where her mother’s embrace would no doubt be waiting.

It took her hours to find her way. Every minute of each hour looking into the blank eyed stares of the women’s eyes still open and men’s arms grabbing tightly to their children, seared into a part of her lucidity and brought to life with the trembling of her knees while cold sweat discharged a shaky aroma to her figure.

Her mother never made it out alive.

“So when HQ’s power went out-”

“You freaked out.”

Fareeha chuckled, lifting an arm to lay behind her head. “Freaked out may be exaggerating.”

She felt her look up, saw her crane her head upwards to actually _look_ at her. “Is it?”

“Perhaps.”

“Hm.”

The hands never stopped at their work. Soothing to her mind and relieving to her body. She could get use to this. Yes, she could _definitely get use to this_. When the warmth was removed however, pushing against her side as she watched Angela sit up and stretch. Arching her back and raising her hands to the ceiling.

“So Captain Amari,” Angela put out, still stretching while a grin made its way onto her features. “Quite the bloody nose you had when I found you. Care to explain that?”

“Um.”

_Shit._

“No.”

“Not because you were watching me-” she paused, leaning over slowly and extending a finger out to tap the tip of it atop Fareeha’s nose. “— _strip_ , right?”

(Way to change the mood Angela.)

“…no.”

Her laugh was a snort, bouncing out from the bed and sauntering towards the bathroom. “I’m going to take a shower. You’re welcome to stay as long as you wish.”

“Thank you Angela.”

Towel on her shoulder, Angela looked back and before shutting the bathroom door. “Anytime captain. And feel free anytime to consult with me more about any sort of distraction throughout the day. Kapeesh?”

“Kapeesh,” she replied softly.

With a nod, Angela disappeared behind the shut door.

Not moving immediately, a few minutes passed before Fareeha sat up gradually, rubbing at her eyes and slapping lightly at her face. She looked to the side where Angela had laid only a few seconds before, sighing softly before collapsing over it and breathing in deeply.

 Fareeha smiled.

Genuine to the serene atmosphere of the morning sun showering onto her form from the window and the mild sound of water droplets coming from the bathroom. She curled her back inwards, grabbing and hugging tightly at the blankets.

_What a day._

 

**Author's Note:**

> plasticface.tumblr.com
> 
> Luv ya'll


End file.
